


Now from the beginning

by Elizabeth_Mary_Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Amnesia, Collectif NoName - Challenge Avril 2017, Collectif Noname, M/M, Memory Loss, Retirementlock, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, getting old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 14:24:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10618782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Mary_Holmes/pseuds/Elizabeth_Mary_Holmes
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was getting old, his mind a shadow of its former self. Memories, moments and loved faces were slowly fading. Till the dreaded day he would forgot his lover. But his name was still evocative enough to ask his beloved for a story, a story you already know and that you've read countless times. [Challenge d'Avril 2017 du Collectif NoName]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [En ma fin est mon commencement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920377) by [Elizabeth_Mary_Holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Mary_Holmes/pseuds/Elizabeth_Mary_Holmes)



> That little thingie was written for the Collectif NoName Monthly Challenge. The theme for April was "Amnesia" and the question asked by the person giving us the prompt was "Why those characters /that fandom for that fic ?" . Well, it is pretty obvious for me that one of Sherlock's greatest fears would be to lose his prided mind. However, he is not just a mind … And I love dearly retirement!lock. If you spot mistakes , please tell me, as English is not my first language. Thanks for reading!

He had become a seriously timeworn man. His brain was getting slower than in his best days but that was fine. It was still manageable, nothing to be worried of. Yes, he would forget things. Silly things like where he put his glasses - more often than not they were perched atop of his head – or if he visited the bees already that day.

It declined and declined till the memories of what they had been started to fade, a forgotten case, a disremembered date, and years slowly erasing what they had been in their previous life, in those brilliant days, in London where they could feel the pulse of the city, the city that had been like a devoted mistress to him. But now, ... now it was an inextricable maze of unknown streets.

He, who was once a very observant man, faces were becoming a blur in his mind, bit by bit fading. He dreaded the moment he would forgot his lover's face, the moment his beloved would become no more to him than any stranger he would have casually brushed shoulders with in the street in that previous life.

And when that day came, he wept and wept but could not remember why he wept. It felt terrible. But still, he remembered his name like one would remember bits of a familiar tune. A tune sang a long time ago, almost forgotten. He should have remembered those days, a lifetime ago when his husband's name was like a psalm he would repeat forever, dripping from his lips like come pouring from his satiated cock.

He tightened his grip on his husband's hand, his voice a bit shaky and whispered: "Tell me how it was to fall in love with you". His spouse brushed a single salty drop rolling on his wrinkled cheek. He kissed his forehead, carding through the still luxuriant mane. "It felt like it was the best day of my life." he said at once, but his throat constricted a bit, the man was smiling through his tears as he carried on the story, their story: the story of how they felt in love. And that story, I am sure you know it already.


End file.
